


Expiration Date

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drunk Sex, Friends to Lovers, Las Vegas, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Mistakes, Possibly Unrequited Love, Return, Separations, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: He goes to Vegas to meet a friend but ends up married. The time-honored way to make these kinds of mistakes is to do it while incapacitated, but Hotch waits and does it sober instead. An interesting choice...This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story contains suggestive content and should not be read by those under the age of 14.





	Expiration Date

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to this prompt from the comment_fic community on Livejournal: _A pairing goes to Vegas on vacation just as friends. By the end of the trip, they're married._

He knows there should be an expiry date on ill-conceived decisions. Children automatically get a pass because they know so little. The same goes for teenagers because although they think they know everything, they don’t, and it’s sort of a genetically-timed opportunity to get all of your stupid shit out of your system while any record of it can still be safely expunged. The decade between twenty and thirty is a bit of a grey area in his opinion. Technically, you should know enough to avoid the pitfalls of drunken nights out, or taking a random substance from someone at a party, or hopping in a car to Tijuana just because all of your friends are going and they promise not to abandon you there. But often your twenties are when the truly awful choices happen, along with the ensuing embarrassing photos, troubling criminal record, or unfortunate tattoos. 

But he’s well past all of that. He hasn’t had a good excuse to fuck up in nearly twenty years, and perhaps he deluded himself into thinking that he was no longer _capable_ of fucking up simply because of his age. And the invitation was so innocuous – just reconnecting with a friend he’d almost lost (ironically, due to a stupid choice that _wasn’t_ his, but he had to suffer through regardless).

“Come to Vegas,” he said over the phone, like ‘come down to the arcade’. So innocent. “I have some stuff to take care of there, but we could still meet up. Maybe have dinner. You can tell me what’s next for you now that you and Jack are free of the Marshals.”

So, he went, happy to have a mini vacation that was all his own and no pending emergencies to rush back to face. But ‘what’s next for you’ turned out to be _marrying_ the aforementioned-innocent friend at some rockabilly-themed dude ranch just outside the city limits where everything smelled of sagebrush and people wore too much pomade. At least, that was the sum total of his hazy memory of it. There was also something to do with holding someone’s hand while watching the sun set (he’s unsure if it was out of affection or to prevent him from falling), and his clothes were covered in so much sand he suspected he was outside for a considerable amount of time.

Okay, so, _fine_. He’s fifty years old and he got wrecked in Vegas and married someone he shouldn’t. Scratch that one off the bucket list – he must be a late bloomer. But to then _sleep with this person_ once he sobered up and realized what had happened, well… he has no excuse for that one. The time-honored way to make these kinds of mistakes is to do it while incapacitated, but he waited and did it sober instead. An odd choice.

“Aaron, it’s fine,” Reid sighs from the bed where he’s stretched out, tangled in the sheets that housekeeping hasn’t had a chance to change because they’ve been balling in them like demented rabbits for a day and half straight. “We got drunk and did something stupid.”

He’s looking out the sliding doors of the pokey hotel room they’re holed up in. The sun is setting again, painting him in pinks and oranges and golds. His hair is all over the place and his face has these hollows and lines to it that he doesn’t remember from the time before Peter Lewis forced him into hiding and away from his team. Hotch hates how Reid might have come by this new look of his, but he thinks it’s attractive nonetheless and his brain tries to switch off as his body burps out the word _‘fuckable’_ and attempts to convince him to crawl back into bed with his ‘friend’.

“No, Spencer. We got drunk. Period. And then did something stupid much, much later. Period.”

Reid doesn’t react at all – which is telling in its own way – and continues staring at the desert sunset instead. “We can undo it,” he says eventually. “It’s easy.”

“It’s _easy?_ ” Hotch steps closer, forgetting that he’s naked and should be ashamed. Instead he just wonders _how_ Reid knows it’s easy to walk away from a debacle like this.

“Sure,” he shrugs and rolls his head on the mess of pillows to look at Hotch. “Annulment. They have almost as many public services booths in Vegas as they do wedding chapels for that exact purpose.”

“The marriage isn’t the part I’m worried about,” Hotch mumbles.

Reid just stares at him blankly. It’s so bland that it _has_ to be forced. At least that’s what Hotch’s brain and dick are telling him. “Don’t worry about it,” Reid mumbles back and then gets up heading for the bathroom. His neck has purpled up in mouth-shaped bruises and there’s a selection of scratch marks down his back that roll in waves as he walks away. Hotch experiences a hot, nervous trembling to see it so brazenly on display. _What I did…_ “Get dressed, Aaron. Let’s go eat something. Once you eat, you’ll feel better.”

The bathroom door shuts quietly, and then he says, “I don’t _want_ to feel better.” He wants to know why he bedded Spencer Reid.

Since his brain, which is old enough to have helped him avoid this in the first place, isn’t providing him with answers to his questions, he decides the next best thing is to ask Reid those questions. “Why did you go to bed with me?” he asks over dinner when Reid has a mouthful of burger and nearly chokes at the sudden change in topics.

“Why?” he says around a gulp of water. “What do you mean ‘why’? Because you’re attractive, and I wanted to, and I’ve missed you. That’s why. I think the better question is, why did _you_ accept my invitation? I always thought you were straight.”

“If that’s true, then why did you proposition me?” Nice deflection, man. Way to not look at your own motives in this.

Reid rolls his eyes. “I was still pretty buzzed when I asked, you know. Pretty full of myself. That only happens when I’m inebriated.”

“Oh.” Hotch looks away, oddly disappointed. “I thought we were both sober.”

Reid’s silent long enough that Hotch has to look back at him, and his face is creased like he’s trying to pull Hotch’s expression apart for analysis. That makes Hotch very uncomfortable because Reid is terribly good at dismantling people this way.

“Well, I was drunk the first time,” he mumbles and carefully watches for a reaction. “But times two through six I was sober as a judge.”

Hotch swallows reflexively as heat rises in his face. He sees a bruise peeking out from behind Reid’s collar and feels _hunger._ Here, sober, in front of everyone. Reid continues staring when Hotch can’t drag his eyes away, and his mouth falls open in fascination at whatever he’s seeing in Hotch’s expression.

“If you find it upsetting and want to put it behind you, I’ll do that, Aaron.” He fixes Hotch with one of his new, hard looks and lays his hand on the table within easy reach. “But I’d rather not, if what I’ve seen over the past two days is the truth.”

“The truth?” Hotch asks unsteadily. _He’s a friend, he’s a friend… Jesus, he’s just supposed to be a friend…_

“That you’re aching to be free. And you finally are. Free of the job, the responsibility, free from the deadly consequences of failure… Maybe you’re free enough to do what you want for a change. All those years spent steering the ship, I think you’ve forgotten that doing what you want is always an option.”

Hotch had forgotten that, until, of course, he got snookered off his face and _forgot_ to forget about it. And Reid held him, and then held him down, kissing him for what felt like days with nothing more important or reasonable than clasping him close and slipping in for one slow, soft pull after another…

He clears his throat roughly and thinks his face must be on fire by now.

“Have you… uh, how long…” He feels stupid for even trying to form the question, but he’s an old-fashioned guy and he needs to know. If it’s just… a little fun, then, yes, he wants to put it behind him, because he’s not nearly young enough to think that casual sex isn’t a bad idea every single time.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time,” Reid says quietly. “But I set it aside because you’re a friend and you’re straight. I’m an adult – I try not to actively delude myself about things like that.”

“Well…” Hotch huffs. “I guess the last two days prove that I’m not all that straight, am I?” His mouth lifts in rosy half-smile, and Reid blinks and then barks an unexpected laugh back at him.

“I guess not. You sorta leapt in with both feet. It’s impressive.” Reid keeps laughing and it encourages Hotch to join in until they’re both flushed and silly. When it tapers off, Reid looks at him unabashedly, with no forced blandness or sharp edges. “So, what do you want to do about this?”

That was the question, and this time only he can answer it. It’s time to decide if crazy decisions really do have a shelf life.

“I…” He becomes riveted to Reid’s long fingers splayed on the table next to his plate. Thin, almost too delicate to be considered masculine, with perfect pale half-moon nails. He finds himself reaching for them with his index finger, tracing the tip of a nail before sinking between two fingers to rest on the bare wood of the table as well. “I don’t think I want to annul anything. Not yet, anyway.” 

He looks up. “What do you think of that?”

Reid blinks so rapidly it’s like he’s trying to achieve loft with his eyelashes. “That’s not what I thought you’d say.”

“Well, is that okay?”

“Yes, I mean… _yes_ , but do you really know what you’re agreeing to?”

“I’m choosing something I want simply because I want it, and for no other reason. Beyond that, I’m not really sure about what I’m doing. I’m afraid that if I think about this too hard, the whole thing might disintegrate on me.”

“Hmmmm,” Reid’s brows furrow and he looks down at their hands, then Hotch panics a little because he thinks he’s said the wrong thing. He’s pretty bad at this stuff – always has been. He just wants _to try_. Is that such a bad idea? He quickly hooks his finger around one of Reid’s.

“I’ve been wondering if there’s an expiry date in a person’s life for making crazy decisions. I was trying to figure out _when_ that happens, when does your time run out and you get put up on a shelf because your choices are no longer relevant or life-altering.”

Reid looks puzzled. Hotch shakes his head.

“But perhaps there’s isn’t an expiry date, and maybe those decisions we _stop making_ at some point aren’t all that crazy or stupid. Maybe we just become too risk-adverse and we convince ourselves that we’re better off not doing the stupid shit we did so readily when we were younger.”

“You think you’re making a ‘crazy’ decision?” Reid’s eyebrows lift.

“I know I am,” Hotch says. “Crazy in the sense that I’ve never made this choice before and I have no idea how it will work out. For most of my adult life, I’ve tried to anticipate all the outcomes so that no matter what happened, I had a plan in place for it.”

“Oh,” Reid says non-committally, but his expression gets curious. 

“But I’m… flattered and enticed and _interested_ in this, so it’s hard to find a reason to turn it away. And I don’t want to fly back home because that’s what _I know_ how to do instead of staying and figuring out what I _don’t know_ how to do.”

“Wow, that was a confusing thought, but I think I understand what you mean.” Reid settles back in his chair to take Hotch in. “And you already know how to do plenty.”

“I feel like I could use more practice,” Hotch says darkly and smiles when he sees a flush march up Reid’s throat. “I’ve got years-worth of vacation pay waiting to be spent, and plenty of time and interest suddenly.”

“Well, _I_ still have a job,” Reid smirks and tries to hide it. His finger curls back around Hotch’s tightly.

“But it can wait a day or two,” Hotch rumbles and idly congratulates himself on committing to crazy behavior so swiftly and wholeheartedly. “Let’s go back to the hotel, Spencer. See if housekeeping gave us new sheets to mess around in.”

“What have I done?” Reid says a little breathlessly, eyes widening in surprise.

“I don’t know,” Hotch gets up and leans over the table until he can murmur in Reid’s ear. “But I’m aching to find out.”

Reid makes a low, involuntary whistle and Hotch grins, assuming _whatever this is_ is on again. He drops out a handful of bills from his wallet on the table for their half-finished meal, then he pulls Reid out of his chair and herds him towards the exit.

“So, you thought you’d ‘expired’? Is that what you were trying to say?” Reid smiles when they reach the rental car in the parking lot and Hotch turns him quickly, pushing him back against the door with his mouth and his hands and his hips. Hotch doesn’t answer, just speeds back to the hotel, and tosses them both into the crisp, clean linens that he takes far too much joy in ruining.

Two days later, when they linger in McCarran’s departures terminal destined for different flights and trying not to say the word ‘goodbye’, Hotch isn’t so sure his crazy choice is a good one. His fingers are curled through Reid’s, their faces near enough to brush but never really touch. It seems like they’re worried about getting too close, as well as drifting too far away. Hotch closes his eyes and breathes Reid in, wondering how he’ll move on from here, away from a man who hasn’t been beyond arm’s length in five days.

“Will you have a case when you get back?” he chokes out, brushing Reid’s lips and trying to sound like he’s making small talk.

“There’s always a case. You know that.” Reid nips his lower lip quickly and then retreats. “What about you? What’s next in Missouri?”

 _Nothing,_ Hotch thinks gloomily. “I start looking for a job, I guess.”

“You don’t have to. You could legitimately retire, you know.”

“What would I do with myself then?” he huffs into Reid’s cheek. _In the middle of nowhere. Adrift. Miles away from you._

Reid cups his jaw and draws his attention back. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You don’t know the answer to that question. Yet.”

“You make it sound easy. Like it’s an adventure waiting to happen.”

“It is.” Reid gives him a serious look. “Just like this was.”

_Was?_

“Are you done with me?” His voice cracks and he’s ashamed of his neediness. Reid’s other hand cradles Hotch’s face and pulls him close for a soft kiss.

“No,” he whispers against Hotch’s mouth, just for him. Then he pulls back. “But if you don’t try, you’ll never know. I don’t want to be the thing you run to because it’s what you know.”

Hotch’s face creases up. “How can you be the thing I know? We’ve only been doing this for a few days.” But it feels much longer. It feels like instinct, like it’s always been around them. It feels like lying back in water and knowing that you’ll float.

“We’ve known each other for thirteen years, Aaron. We’ve worked together, saved each other’s lives, been to hell side-by-side… What could be more known than that?”

Hotch kisses him hard suddenly, fingers grasping, teeth trying to capture and hold.

“Aaron,” Reid gasps as he struggles and they separate. “Don’t stop making crazy decisions because you’re scared of losing things.”

“And what if my crazy choice is _you_ , Spencer?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Reid smiles, kissing him and then peeling Hotch’s grip away. “Figure out what you and Jack want, and then do it. I’ll be there on the other side when the choices get made and the dust settles.”

“Jesus, Spence…” Hotch drops his hands and lets Reid go, feeling utterly defeated. They stand together in silence for a moment as strangers brush past them busily trying to get somewhere else.

“Aaron,” Reid waits until their eyes meet. The lines and dark circles make him look older, but his eyes are still wide and expressive, ageless and curious. “I’ve waited a long time to make my crazy decision. It took almost a decade, and it ended up happening here, in the town where I grew up of all places. Who would’ve thought that?”

Hotch’s expression goes blank when the words hit him and sink in. 

“I would’ve annulled it,” Reid continues softly, fingers tangling in front of him nervously. “I would’ve sat through the sober regret and awkward conversations. I would’ve put it behind me and never mentioned it again for as long as I lived. If you’d asked me to. But I’d never regret taking the risk. Never.”

Reid steps up and squares his shoulders, looking determined. “I have faith in the choice I’ve made. Now it’s time to find faith in yours. Go home. Talk to Jack. Make plans. And _believe_ that I’ll be there for you somehow, whichever way everything turns out.”

“You…” Hotch’s question dies in his throat. He’s blinking too much, heartbeat pounding in his temples. Reid’s long fingers sink into his hair and anchor him as he spins around internally in disbelief.

“We don’t come with ‘best before’ dates, Aaron,” he whispers against Hotch’s cheek. “Everything’s on the table until we’re done, until we reach our last day. That’s what the job has taught me. I swore the day that Emily told us you and Jack had gone into protective custody… I _swore_ that if we ever had another chance, I wouldn’t be afraid to take it.”

Hotch’s arms wrap around him and squeeze until Reid groans a little in discomfort. But he doesn’t let up. He owns that noise – no one else is going to coax it from Reid but him.

“Technically, you’re my husband,” he murmurs as he nuzzles against Reid’s neck. “That means I want regular updates about where you are and how you’re doing. Don’t make me worry when I don’t have to.”

“Yes,” Reid shakes against him, giving away for the first time what this will cost him. “Okay.”

“And I want you to come to me when you can,” Hotch continues wetly, squeezing even tighter. “A fly-over visit, a vacation, a long weekend… whatever you can manage whenever you can manage it. And if you can’t make that happen, I’ll come to you. Just tell me.”

“I will, Aaron,” Reid whispers.

Hotch pulls back and holds Reid’s face, the two of them swallowing and blinking too much. “You’d better be right about this, genius, otherwise I think it’ll be the death of me.”

Reid busts out a wide grin as he shuffles out of Hotch’s grip. He grabs his go bag from where it lies at his feet and gives Hotch a look that is 100% special agent smartass.

“Have I ever let you down before?” he smirks and starts backing away to his gate at the opposite end of the terminal from Hotch’s. When he’s beyond reach, he gives Hotch one of his weird, patented waves. Hotch waves back, just as goofily, and smiles.

“No, you’ve never let me down,” he murmurs to himself, and watches until Reid blends into the crowd and disappears. “I’m counting on that.”


End file.
